Daddy's not so Little Helper
by ChaiChai07
Summary: Rusty Venture never got chicken pox when he was a kid. So when his two small boys bring home something as simple as the children's illness, he's not prepared for how hard it's going to hit him.
1. Chapter 1

Daddy's not so Little Helper

Summary: Rusty Venture never got chicken pox when he was a kid. He was too busy going on adventures and picking up other, more exotic illnesses. So when he two small boys bring home something as simple as the children's illness, he's not prepared for how hard it's going to hit him.

A/N: This story is from a plot bunny found on the Venture Bros Kink Meme, which I'm not sure is up and running anymore, so I'm posting it here. The prompt was "Set in the past when Hank and Dean are toddlers. (they have 2 dads! 8D)

Rusty gets really sick, and Brock takes care of him, and gradually learns to like/love him." So if you're on here, this story is for you. Everyone else, please enjoy.

Go Team Venture!

The boys are finally asleep. Doc was in their room for hours today reading them all their favorite stories until they drifted off. Both of them came down with really nasty cases of the chicken pox at the same time, and I don't think their dad's gotten a moment to sleep since Hank and Dean started breaking out. He even put his trip to the Himalayas on hold, telling the archeologists that he had more pressing matters at hand. It's moments like these that I don't mind working for a guy like him. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's an ass and a half a lot of the time and that thing he's got going on with his kid-clone lab is just plain creepy and weird, but he's not a terrible person.

I light a cigarette and eye him as he comes in the kitchen, heading straight for the stove. "Hey Doc, how are the boys?"

He shrugs, fills the tea kettle and pulls down a coffee mug, dropping a tea bag inside of it. "I don't know. Dean's been really whiny and Hank keeps trying to scratch when he thinks I'm not looking. I finally got them both to sleep with some of Daddy's Little Helper, if you know what I mean." He clears his throat and pulls out a small flask from that speed-suit of his, pouring some of the contents over the bag in the mug.

"Doc, they're three. You can't give that to three year olds, that's not even cool." Are you fucking kidding me? I take that back. He's a terrible father.

"It did the trick. It's not like I got them wasted or anything like that. I just needed them to sleep." I look at him hard while he pours honey into his tea and sigh to myself; he looks worn to the bone. He glares at me. "Whose bright idea was it to take the boys to the playground again? I certainly didn't think it was a good plan."

"The boys gotta have fresh air and all that. They're just kids."

"They get plenty of fresh air. I take them places all the time."

"Yeah, but they don't get to see people their own age. They ain't socializing right."

"They don't need other kids. That's the beauty of having two of them. They'll always have someone to play with."

"I still say it ain't healthy to keep them away from playmates that ain't family." I light another cigarette with the stub of the old one and take a deep drag. He may be pretty smart about all this science shit, but he knows jack when it comes to his own kids.

"And this is what you'd call healthy? Brock, they have chicken pox for god's sake. They never would have gotten it if they would have stayed in the compound like I said they should." He pushes his fingers under his glasses and rubs his eyes, looking more tired than he normally does.

"Chicken pox is no big deal. Every kid gets it. I was only a little older than the boys when I got it."

"I never got it." He starts staring at the wall with that far away, bitter look in his eyes. That look right there tells me that if his dad wasn't already dead, I'd want to kill him. "I got malaria instead. I still have flare ups to this day."

I've been with him through those flare ups. They can get pretty brutal. Jonas Venture was a globe-trotting dick, if you ask me. No wonder his kid is such a shitty father. He learned from the best. Any asshole who could endanger his own son the way Jonas did his… something clicks in my mind. "Hang on; you never got the chicken pox?"

"Not that I know of, no. I was never around other children. I guess I should be thanking my old man for helping me dodge that bullet, huh?"

"Yeah… no Doc. That bullet's gonna hit you like a freight train."

"What are you talking about Brock? Chicken pox is a children's disease."

"It's a children's disease because you get it during childhood. You get it as an adult it's gonna kick your ass and hard."

"Are you fucking kidding me? This is just great. How the hell am I supposed to take care of my boys and the postponed job in the Himalayas if I'm down for the count?" He looks stressed out.

"I can take care of the boys, you know that. As for the job, well they can either take their business elsewhere or they can till you're on your feet again. Simple as that. Everything's gonna be cool. The boys will be back on their feet again in no time. Kids stop feeling sick after a couple days so you won't need to worry about that."

"Well, we don't know for sure I'm going to get sick. I mean, I don't remember every illness I got, so this might be a lot of worry over nothing. Right now, we're just going to act like everything is fine. We don't need to tell Hank and Dean about this."

"Right Doc, whatever you say." I nod and watch him pick up his tea and slump out of the room. It may have been psychosomatic, but he reaches up and scratches his shoulder violently. Rusty Venture… you gotta feel for the guy his dad turned him into.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

"Brock, Brock!" My legs are entrapped by two pairs of small, spotty arms. "We feel better now!" Hank chirped at me, his eyes wide. "Can we go back to the park?" Dean nods, looking just as hopeful as Hank.

"No can do boys, your spots are still oozing." I feel one forehead, then the other. They still have fevers, but they're pretty low grade. I sigh to myself and pick both of them up, one on each arm. How the hell did I, Brock Samson, a one man execution squad turn into a nanny?

"But Brock…" Hank nuzzled his face against my shoulder, trying to give me puppy eyes.

"Nope, no buts." Dean takes a sharp breath and looks shocked and Hank giggles. "Yeah, yeah, you know what I mean. If you feel up to it you can both help me take care of some things later today." I set both of them down and ruffle their hair. "I just need to go check on something real quick before I do. Go to your room and play while I do that."

Dean's eyes grew huge and he put his finger in his mouth. "Are we in trouble, Brock?"

"No Dean, you aren't in trouble, I promise." I put my hand back in his hair and give him what I hope passes as a nice smile. God, that kid is so sensitive it boggles my mind. "I just need to look at something sort of boring is all."

The boys turn away and run back to their room. I go back to searching the compound for the Doc. I start with the most obvious place I can think of, his bedroom. The bed's made and it looks like he hasn't even slept in it. Well isn't that great? He should be in bed right now trying to not get sick. Idiot. So I head to the next place to check out, the lab. I go into the large room and look around, rubbing my neck. "Hey Doc, you in here?" Of course he's not, that would be far too easy. So I head for the kitchen, and, surprise, surprise, he's not there either. Okay Doc, time to stop playing hide and seek, I never did like that game. He's not in the library or the TV room. Finally I head for the boys' room and stick my head inside. They are giggling and piling blankets in the middle of the floor. God, these kids are weird. And Doc wonders why I think they need to get out more and make real friends… "Hank, Dean, what are you doing?"

"Playing." Hank grins at me and puts his Batman comforter on top of Dean's Bizzy Bee blanket.

"Okay, what are you playing?"

Dean scratches his arm then puts his hand down guiltily. "Chicken box."

"How do you play chicken pox?" The blankets move and make and muffled noise. Well shit, I think I found my missing charge. "Boys, is your father under there?"

Hank nods. "He's sleeping and all spotty, so we're playing with him."

"We want to take care of him." Dean agrees, rubbing at his arms in an uncomfortable way, looking down at his feet.

I sigh and very gently unearth the scientist. Damn it, he's got it alright. His face is so broken out I'd swear he was having another acne attack, like he had in college. I shake his shoulder to wake him up while I look at the boys. "No more playing chicken pox with your father. Play nicely with each other instead. I'm gonna get your dad to bed."

"Brock, is Daddy sick?" Dean looks troubled.

"Yeah Dean, he's sick. That's why I'm going to put him to bed and make sure he gets better, alright."

Doc stirs and shivers, opening his eyes. "Brock?" His voice is very hoarse and he looks miserable. "What the…" He looks around and, seeing where he is, sighs softly, choosing to watch his language. "What the heck is going on?"

"You got the chicken pox Doc. You wanna stand up so I can get you to bed?" I offer him my hand and pull him easily up to his feet. He shivers and scratches the back of his neck.

"Daddy, no scratching." Dean sounds almost stern and put his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, you'll get scares."

"Scars Hank scars." Well, at least he's not too sick to correct his son, that's sort of a good sign, I guess.

"Alright boys that's enough. I need to get your father here comfortable. Keep playing and I'll be back." I drape Doc's arm over my shoulder and put the back of my hand against his forehead. "You've got a fever. How the hell did this get you so quickly?"

"I wasn't feeling all that great last night you know. I think it was just incubating."

He sounds so tired. He scratches the top of his head and I smack his hand down lightly. "Not on my watch, Doc. Don't make me break out the oven mitts this early in the game."

"Shut up, Brock." He scowls at me, but it falls flat. He's not intimidating when he's at the top of his game. Give him a childhood illness and a high fever he's down right… well, not scary. When we get to his room I let him flop down on his bed rather unceremoniously. He unzips his speedsuit and kicks it off, leaving only those briefs of his between my eyes and his junk. He's showing his skinny body off in all its spotted glory and it hits me that he had to have been hiding this from me last night. There's no way he got this bad this fast. His torso looks like the boys got to him with red Sharpie. I bend down and pick up the suit, putting it over my arm. "Doc, you're gonna have to let me cover you up. You'll feel worse if you get chilled." Geez, if my old unit could see me now. Between looking after two little boys and making sure the doc stays with me I've turned into what would happen if Mary Poppins and Alfred Pennyworth had a baby. The guys would laugh their asses off and I wouldn't blame them.

He twists around in a half assed way and lets me fix him up. I pull the covers up to his chin and run my hand uncertainly through my hair. He looks so… I don't know, almost like one of the boys. Sot of helpless and all that. At the risk of sounding creepy and weird, it's kinda, well, kinda a good look for him. Oh god, what the fuck am I doing? I clear my throat and stand up straight. "Hey Doc, I'm gonna go make you some soup." When you aren't sure what else to do you make soup, right? It's safe and it's something every sick person needs.

He looks up at me and nods. "Okay, thank you Brock. Don't make that chicken and stars crap the boys like though. They're three, their taste buds don't work for shit."

"I know, I know, tomato and rice it is." It still comes out of a can, but it does have more flavor. I think Hank and Dean like chicken and stars because of the stars. He turns over on his side and coughs, and then scratches his shoulder. I sigh. "Come on Doc, you're worse than Dean. You need to cut that out." It's not that I don't feel for him, I really do. But I can't have him scratching. He's already got more scars than he should, what with his childhood and that acne of his when he was a teenager. He sure doesn't need any more help in that department. "Do you want the TV brought up or anything like that?"

"No, I think I just want to sleep. And if I can't do that, dying might be my next option." Now I know he's sick. When he's got a cold or something (which happens way more frequently than it should) he turns into the world's biggest baby. He wants all these things brought to his room and he bitches at me constantly. I can tell when he's really sick because he gets less demanding; like he's too miserable to really care what happens, as long as he's taken care of.

"Alright then, I'll be back. Holler if you need anything." He just nods again before he closes his eyes. I make a note to find the aspirin before I come back up with the soup, He's already got a whopper of a headache, I can tell from the tight wrinkles around his eyes. I don't know what else to say to make him feel better, so I just make my way to the kitchen, like a good nanny should, god help me.


End file.
